


Dance for Me

by iimplicitt



Series: Harry Potter One Shots/Stories [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, Control Issues, F/M, Lapdance, Misogyny, Muggle London, No Romance, Obsessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Sad, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Suggestive Themes, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimplicitt/pseuds/iimplicitt
Summary: Hermione works as an exotic dancer at an elite club in London, when suddenly one of the clientele gains her attention, who of which is none other than Draco Malfoy. He gains an obsession over her as he watches her over a span of a few weeks, never talking, until one night he decides to ask for a private dance.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Harry Potter One Shots/Stories [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687453
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Dance for Me

**He** wouldn't stop staring at her, his platinum blond hair nearly blinding in the black lights. 

Now, it wasn't like he was the only one. Glowing eyes raked over Hermione's body every night, watching her every move hungrily. That was her job. However, this was the fifth week in a row where his startling blue eyes were solely on her. 

Always her. 

It wasn't like there were twenty other girls for him to goggle at. _The Black Dahlia_ was one of the most elite clubs in London, only allowing those who could pay well in the doors. That didn't necessarily mean the club was limited in its party, gods no. It was always packed.

Sweating bodies swayed together, alcohol and cologne coated the air like honey, and the heavy bass drowned away peoples morals and only left room for sin. At first Hermione felt suffocated when she first started working there, but with encouragement from her sisters and over exposure she got used it. 

Two years in and now she was one of their best dancers and 'top attractions,' as her lovely boss had put it. 

That being said, her reputation gained her extra attention and now again she got some creep breathing down her neck or trying to follow her home. She was protected though, she knew that. For one, Hermione could handle herself. If you wanted a position at _The Black Dahlia_ you had to take self defense classes. And on top of that, if she told any security that someone was bothering her, the latter would be chucked onto the street and banned. 

Her get-up for the night was a deep crimson, the lace sheer and like a second skin as the material clung to her curves. Golden chains were donned as a bodice, swaying with her movements as she walked, the sound of her heels lost to the music. Running her hands through her wild, curled hair she fanned herself. It was always ridiculously hot. 

She was pulled from her thoughts as an arm wrapped around her waist, their arm tickling the bare skin of her back. Taking a breath, she turned and smiled, her painted lips matching in the same blood red of her outfit. 

The man was around her age, fiery red hair and freckles covering his flushed cheeks. The moment he spoke, the stench of alcohol hit her. He was wasted. He said his name was Ron, and she nodded and rubbed her hands slowly up and down his arms. 

Ron said all the same things she always heard, asking for a dance, promising her a good time. 

She never had a good time. 

Running a finger down his exposed chest he blinked, pupils dilated with lust as he ate her up with his eyes. Hermione's voice was soft but still thundered through the air, "how much do you pay, darling?" When he frowned she got her answer. A faux pout met her lips and she pushed up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

"Till next time," she winked and sauntered off. 

Good thing too, because when she turned _his_ eyes seemed to impale her. He looked angry. Admittedly she was curious, he was very intimidating. Hermione knew he was a business man, that much was obvious due to his suit and what company he was always with. 

Even there he was different. All his friends always indulged themselves, drunk out of their minds and dancing with any girl to walk by. Yet he always sat in their reserved booth, only drinking whiskey and watching her. 

As she made her way to one of the many platforms that was scattered within the club, she also became aware he could pay damn well. Never had he asked her for a private dance, hell he hadn't even spoken to her. But the first night she noticed him her platform was right next to his booth. 

He seemed to devour her that night, he touched her only once, and that was the closest they've ever been. 

**A** bass line mixed with piano slammed through the speakers, the pace slow enough to be sensual but quick enough for a raging dance floor. Hermione was in a sheer white two piece, a shimmering veil of silver that swayed, everything on show but hidden enough for lustful curiosity. Her customers burning with the need to see her in just a _little_ less. 

The moment she stepped onto the platform the group of men she was closest to turned into wanton creatures of the night, desperate to let out their desires in a shame free environment. It disgusted Hermione, but it paid. 

Then her eyes met his, and she started. Her hips swayed with the beat, her whole body moving like water. The glint from the silver tassels blinding like falling stars. Another chord struck and her chest pushed outward as her hands ran down her legs as she lowered herself to her knees. 

If she just focused on the music and her own movements she could forget everything. The panic would go away, the shame would fade. Usually this process worked for her, but as she threw her head back and her hair hit her back softly she was face to face with the most crystalline eyes she's ever seen. 

He had stood up, his all black suit fitted to his slender build and his top buttons were undone, revealing a pale chest and his white blond hair had fallen into his eyes. 

Hermione kept eye contact as she continued to dance sensually, her breathing heavy from the intoxicated air and the aura of him. His drank her up, his gaze trailing from her flushed face, down her neck to her breast, her partially exposed woman hood and to her toned legs.

Dragging slowly all the back up again. 

Chestnut brown collided with ice blue and he slowly took a drink of his whiskey. She couldn't breathe, he was reaching down her throat and yanking the air right from her lungs. Sitting up on her knees, Hermione ran her hands through her hair, exposing her slender neck and rolled her hips.

Rolling to her side to stand up, she now had the high ground as she looked down at him, her red painted nails lightly clawing at her skin. He finished his drink and dug in his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and she didn't let her eyes widen at the large stack of bills he pulled out. 

This wasn't even a private dance and he was paying her over half a grand. 

Her breath hitched as he stepped closer, gesturing her to step closer in a come hither motion with his index finger. Stepping to the edge, she was about to bend down but his calloused hands took hold of her hips and she stilled. 

Looking up at her through his lashes, he held a lilting smirk as he tucked the money into the hem of her bottoms. His nails dug into her skin briefly, as if he was hyping himself up to let go, and then stepped back. 

Continuing to watch her dance, her cheeks flushed despite her efforts. 

**Which** was where they were at now, except he was some distance away. That didn't matter, his expression made it feel like he was touching her again. Hermione continued to dance, forcing herself to ignore him as more people gave her money, finding a multitude of ways to stick it either in her cleavage or her bottoms. 

Some even doing it with their teeth.

Afterwards she stepped down, fishing out the bills and bringing them to the clubs collector so they could add it to her pile. Walking out of the back hall and back onto the main floor, Hermione had just turned the corner when she right into someone's chest.

"Oh my god I'm sorry," she said politely, painting on her sugary smile but it faltered a bit when she looked up. "No worries, It was completely my fault," his voice drawled, he deep baritone. Even in her heels he was much taller than her. 

Due to them being in the back, the lighting was a bit better and his sharp features were more defined. The man dripped in money, and with the way he held himself she knew he was probably born into wealth. 

"I'm sorry," he laughed again, shaking his head at himself and pressing a hand to his chest. "I couldn't help it, I wanted to introduce myself. I'm Draco." His smile was very charming, his teeth glinting and white and he held out his hand. 

Well that was a different approach. Nonetheless she mustered up her smile again and shook his hand, "Hermione."

"I watch you."

"I know," she winked, playing her part. He took another step closer and never before had she so desperately wanted to run away. He was overwhelming. And she panicked, and when she did that she spews rubbish. 

He was about to say something but she cut him off, "so your name is really Draco? Interesting. I'm assuming your parents got inspiration from the word Draconian, which is rooted from the Greek legislator Drakon. Which is a bit odd, considering it means-"

"Excessively harsh and severe, yes I know. You must be very smart," he mused, his smile now pressed into a line. Obviously not liking the topic of conversation. She blushed again and his smirk became teasing. Sucking in a breath as he stepped closer yet again, she had to crane her neck up to meet his eye. 

Draco tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, her skin feeling on fire as he did so. His fingers then trailed down her neck, tickling down her arm before grabbing hold of her hand. "I'm not usually one to beg..." he trailed and she raised a haughty brow at him.

His thumb ran circles into her skin and she felt light headed, his warm breath fanning her lips as he continued, "you're beautiful. Up there, you're in control and you know it. It's intoxicating." Draco took her body in, the swell of her breasts against the tight fabric, her slender waist and toned legs that seemed to shimmer. He licked his lips and his eyes darted to hers, hungry.

Hermione felt like crying.

But she smiled seductively and ran her hand up his other arm before her fingers rested at the nape of his neck, messing with his soft hair. His skin was hot and she could feel the steady beat of his pulse, a dichotomy to her rapid heart. 

Draco wrapped his other arm around her waist, his large hand splayed against the curve of her spine and finally closing the distance. Hermione was pressed to him and the feel of her appeared to send a shock wave of arousal through him. This made evident by the inky blackness of his pupils invading the lightness in his blue eyes. 

"I don't hear begging yet," she drawled, coating her words in ichor, making them heavy and full of intent, lulling around his ears and he held her tighter, his nails digging into her back. She shot him a warning glance, "you leave a mark, you pay extra."

He shrugged, smirking devilishly, "trust me, I'm willing to liquidate. As I'm sure you remember I pay well. And as for begging, I'd be willing to kill anyone in this room to see you dance again, my dear."

Hermione swallowed, her tongue dry, "oh?"

He hummed, and she realized her heart was now beating with the deafening base, making her tremble right down to the bones. Shaking her worries away, she tugged on his hair and a groan left his lips.

 _"Dance for me_."

It wasn't a request, it was a demand. 

Now, now she knew who he was. It clicked in her head and everything fell away, that familiar numbness washing over her. She preformed best when apathy was her companion. Once she knew what they liked, it was like clock work. 

Draco was a man who craved control. 

And through her, he's claimed it. And she was letting him. Taking his hand, she led him to the back rooms reserved for private dances. As they stepped into hers, red tinted light flooded the room, making it look like hell tipped over. The air was more comfortable here, though still warm for pleasure sake.

The door clicked shut behind her and she turned to him, hands pressed to his chest, the feel of his muscles evident as she pushed him onto one of the plush couches. His eyes were heavy lidded as her nails raked along the exposed skin of his sternum, music also thudding in the room but softer. 

Hermione began to dance for him, by far more proactively, grabbing hold of her breast as her hips moved in circles, his hands running over her all the while. 

She was wrong, he wasn't different. 

Draco was like every other elite clientele, finding refuge in an environment where they can let their inner animal out, teeth barred and saliva drooling down their chins. Safe and away from prying eyes, away from the judgment of society. 

He turned her around and she got the hint, bending over, her hips swirling against his and his breath hitched. Draco splayed a hand over her back as he watched her ass move against him in a sensual pattern along with the music. 

She moved side to side, switching pressure and swaying her shoulders, the feel of his hands like searing coals. He pressed a hot kiss to her back, "I've never seen anyone like you before." Draco's voice was hoarse, coated with liquor and sin.

"There are no other women like me," she purred and turned around, straddling his lap. That was a lie, there were about twenty others in this club alone. Yet for some reason he'd developed an obsession with her. She could see it in his eyes, they were feral as he watched where their hips joined before his hands snaked up and slid the fabric off her shoulders, his hands then cupping her budding breasts. 

His fingers tweaked her nipples and they hardened and she faked a moan. 

This was always going to be her life, wasn't it? Dictated by men like him. Hermione had been lying to herself, she had no power. She was at their whim, controlled by their money. 

She could practically hear the mental chant going off in his head, _move for me_ , again and again and again. An incessant reminder she was weak. And she would move for him, because that was where she stood in this world. A puppet. 

When he wound a hand in her hair she felt like crying again, this time tears actually welling in her eyes. He didn't notice. Draco would make her dance for him, whenever he wanted because he had the money.

Even if she was tired, broken and bleeding, he'd make her do it all again. 

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by "dance monkey" by tones and i, specifically the slowed version


End file.
